


Inconceivable!

by PandoraCulpa



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Crack, Implied Mpreg, Other, Questionable Alchemy, Trope Subversion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:06:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23375857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PandoraCulpa/pseuds/PandoraCulpa
Summary: “I'mpregnant,” the Colonel spat, eyes narrowed to burning, hateful slits.  “Andyou'rethe father.”
Comments: 10
Kudos: 45





	Inconceivable!

**Author's Note:**

> So, this was written aaaaages back, for the Trope Subversion Bingo game I was playing with evil_whimsey and psiten. We were attempting to take common tropes, and flip them on their heads; it's a great way to bust out of mental ruts and come up with some really creative ideas. This was my entry for the subversion of the Mpreg trope, and neither Roy nor Ed thank me for it one little bit.
> 
> Just a heads up that this is essentially a sketch; there's no resolution to the situation I put out here, but it's still hella fun.

Of all the things Edward Elric might have expected on a Saturday morning in Risembul with the sun just barely peeking over the horizon, an incensed Colonel pacing up and down his front porch never even figured. So of course, when he answered the insistent knocking at his front door that had woken him, that was precisely the scene he found waiting.

“Mustang?” he croaked in surprise, rubbing his face as he struggled to wake fully. “What th'fuck are you-”

The Colonel just scowled in response, shoving his way past him and stomping into the living room before Ed could gather himself to protest. Throwing himself down on the sofa, Mustang crossed his legs, folded his arms across his chest and glared at the wall with such uncharacteristic ire that Ed, still holding the open door in one hand, was left completely baffled. He squinted at the older man's stormy grimace, trying to make heads or tails of the situation, before admitting defeat and deciding that it was way the hell too early to deal with his former C.O.'s bizarre strop without any caffeine in his system.

“Sure, come in,” he grumbled sarcastically, refraining from slamming the door only because Al was still sleeping upstairs. “Make yourself at fucking home. I'm making coffee.”

He stalked off to the kitchen without waiting for a reply, and satisfied himself slamming the percolator around a bit. By the time the coffee was brewing, the smell had reminded him that he was, in fact, human, and his temper had abated enough to contemplate a little courtesy. Not that the bastard Colonel deserved it, but Ed figured it couldn't help but put him a little further up on the moral high ground after his morning had started with such a rude disturbance. And anyway, the Colonel's caffeine addiction was legendary, so maybe that was part of the problem. Poking his head around the corner, he said, “Oi. Asshole. You want a mug of this?”

If anything, Mustang's expression darkened at the offer. “No,” he snapped curtly, still not looking at him, but long, gloveless fingers twitched on his arms. “I'm not allowed.” 

Huh. Weird. Maybe Hawkeye had nagged him into quitting. Certainly would explain the nasty mood.

“Suit yourself,” Ed grumbled, ducking back into the kitchen and preparing his own mug. A few sips and he was feeling far more centered and finally ready to deal with his unexpected visitor. Heading back out into the living room, Ed plopped down in an overstuffed chair opposite the couch and let the steam from the coffee rise over his face. “So. What are you doing way the hell out here at ungodly o'clock with your ass on your shoulders?”

“Believe me, it's the last thing I want to be doing,” Mustang retorted, still burning a hole in the wall with his gaze. “They told me I had to.”

“Uh huh.” Ed took another deep swig of his coffee. “Well, that tells me fuck-all.”

He almost choked when the Colonel spun around in an immediate and unexpected towering rage, making eye contact for with him for the first time since he'd arrived. “You just _shut up!_ This is all _your_ fault, Fullmetal, and you don't have any right to bitch about it! _I'm_ the one who gets to be pissed off this time, do you understand? _Not you!_ ”

Every one of Ed's senses screamed of danger, and it took everything he had not to respond to the perceived threat with equal violence. Instead he slammed the mug down on the side table, hard enough to slosh coffee over the sides, and shouted, “Whoa! Hold the fuck on here! What the hell have I done to _you_? I'm not one of your subordinates anymore, _Colonel_!” The title dripped with poison, and Ed pushed himself to his feet. “You wanna come here just to be an asshole, you can get the fuck out right now, and _fuck_ whatever it was that brought you in the first place!”

Mustang sneered, gripping the arms of the sofa and looking as if he'd grow claws just to anchor himself out of spite. “Oh no,” he snarled. “Not until I've had my say. You have ruined my _life_!”

“Yeah, well consider us even then!” Ed howled, forgetting all about Al sleeping overhead as his temper soared. “I don't have to listen to your abuse anymore, Mustang, so just haul your ass out-”

“I'm _pregnant_ ,” the Colonel spat, eyes narrowed to burning, hateful slits. “And _you're_ the father.”

There was precious little that could knock Edward out of a full-blown fit of fury, and the utter absurdity of the statement only threw him for a minute. “Are you _kidding_ me? Don't fuck around with me, Mustang, after that bullshit I am _not_ in the mood! You wanna pick a fight, you damn well better come up with something that makes some kind of goddamn _sense_ , not that load of crap!”

Mustang was in his face in a flash. “You think I would make this up? You think I'd travel out to the ass-end of nowhere just for a _joke_? There is a goddamn _fetus_ inside me, and _you made it_!”

Dark, demented eyes bored into his own, and Ed forced himself to take a deep breath as reason slowly began reasserting itself. Clearly the Colonel was in the process of going _completely batshit insane_ , and in his experience it never helped to scream at the crazy person. And since Mustang was crazy, that meant he had to be the reasonable one, and talk him down. He sucked in another breath, closed his eyes and held it while the remnants of his temper fought and finally subsided, then opened them again and let the air slip from his lungs. There. Better. “Okay,” he said quietly. “Okay. Sit down, and we'll work this out.”

The baleful scowl on Mustang's face made it clear that he wasn't entirely mollified, but he still returned to his seat on the sofa and resumed glaring at the wall. Ed sat down as well, glancing over at his spilled coffee and wishing he dared leave his unstable guest for a minute to refill his mug, but that was sure to set off another round of shouting. Looking at the fuming Colonel's profile, trying to figure out how to discuss his alleged condition rationally, he was taken off guard when a soft voice from the top of the stair said, “Brother?”

Ed leapt up again, instantly contrite. “Al! Fuck, I'm sorry we woke you up.” Twisting around, he hissed quietly at the Colonel, who had looked around with an apologetic frown, “This is all your fault!”

“Mine? You were shouting too!” Indignation warred with anger on Mustang's face, but Alphonse's appearance was enough to dampen both of their furies. As Ed hustled to help his still-frail brother down the stairs, Mustang shifted to the side to give the younger Elric space on the sofa, and once he was settled Al looked between them with curious, tawny eyes.

“Brother, why didn't you tell me the Colonel was visiting? And why were you arguing?” He glanced back at Mustang, a sunny smile blooming. “It's good to see you again, sir. Sorry about my brother.”

“He started it!” Ed yelped. 

Mustang's mouth twisted, but apparently his manners extended to everyone but him. “It's good to see you, Alphonse, and I apologize for the noise. We were both responsible,” he said politely, before ruining the effect with a cutting glare at Ed. “Well, _some_ more than others.”

“You son-of-a-!” Ed began, only to be cut off by Al's gentle inquiry. 

“Colonel? What do you mean?”

He could take some satisfaction at how discomfited the Colonel appeared at the question. Which was no less than the bastard deserved, really. Taking advantage of the momentary silence, Ed snorted and said, “He thinks he's pregnant, Al.”

Al stared at him, jaw slowly dropping, and Mustang turned a hateful face to Ed. “I _am_ pregnant. And it's _your fault_.”

Poor Alphonse's eyes couldn't open any wider and still remain in his head. Turning to Ed, shock writ plain across his features, Al simply said, “Brother?” and that was fucking _it_.

“All-fucking-right, asshole.” It was way too goddamn early for any of this, and no way was Mustang getting Al all worked up over his delusions. Sitting down on the edge of his chair, Ed planted one fist on his thigh and pointed a stern finger at the Colonel. “Before you traumatize my brother any further, we're sorting this shit out, one piece at a time. So you can start off telling me why the _fuck_ you're so certain you're pregnant. You _are_ aware that you're male, right?”

Mustang folded his arms across his chest again and narrowed his eyes. “My masculinity isn't in question. And there were a series of things that informed me of my condition. Nausea, bad enough that I was briefly hospitalized...”

Ed flipped a dismissive hand. “Food poisoning.”

“Try a radical shift of hormones,” Mustang told him dryly. “After the hospital ran every test they could think of to determine the cause and came up with nothing, I think they pulled out the pregnancy test as some kind of desperate joke.” He frowned. “Certainly no one expected a positive result.”

“People screw up all the time in hospitals,” Ed pointed out, having been a patient often enough to notice. “Doesn't mean...”

“They retested me. Four more times. All with the same result.”

There was a pause, then Al spoke. “Maybe there was something in your blood throwing a false-positive? I have to admit, sir, it does seem like a more reasonable option.”

For the first time since he'd stormed in, Mustang didn't look angry. Rather, Ed realized, he looked exhausted, pale and worn and deeply unhappy. “I thought so as well. In fact, I was inclined to dismiss the diagnosis entirely, but Lieutenant Hawkeye insisted we look further. There are, apparently,..” He paused, covering his face with one hand. “ _other_ techniques to test for conception.”

“Other...?” Ed began, and Mustang shook his head ruefully.

“Passed down for generations.”

“Oh,” said Ed, then “ _OH!_ ” His stomach wrenched, and a myriad of scenarios for those 'techniques'- complete with sparkles- flew through his mind, each one worse than the previous. Across from him, Al's mouth hung open with a look of identical horror and Ed spared a moment of grudging sympathy for the Colonel, who was still hiding behind the shield of his hand.

“Exactly,” Mustang finally said, heaving a great sigh and dropping his hand. “Same results as the hospital's tests. I am, without a doubt, with child.”

No one spoke for a few minutes. Ed couldn't even look at the Colonel. He had to admit, implausible though it seemed, that the evidence sounded conclusive, but still. The Colonel! Pregnant! It was just too boggling to take in; it defied the most basic of biological principles. And how to account...

“Wait a minute,” Ed burst out, drawing all eyes to him. “You told me this was _my_ fault. Why the fuck would you say that?”

Mustang's face went through a series of contortions that would, under other circumstances, have been highly amusing. “Because,” he explained, looking as if he'd just bitten into a particularly sour lemon, “the Armstrongs also have techniques for determining paternity.” The sour face turned abruptly vindictive. “And _you_ were the lucky winner.”

“ _What_?!” Horror, anger, and a strange, deep sadness flooded through Ed so heavily that he could barely see for a moment. “That is... there's no fucking way! None! I'm not!” Overcome with the very indignity of the idea, all his arguments dissolved into varied repetitions of 'no', until Al cleared his throat, looking very uncomfortable.

“Okay. So, assuming for a moment that the paternity test is correct,” he said hesitantly, ignoring Edward's offended squawk, “does that mean you two have...?”

“NO!” Ed screeched, at the same time Mustang bellowed, “Absolutely not!”

Al eyed them skeptically. “Are you sure?”

“Oh my _god_!” A _nightmare_ , that's what this was. All too real and horrible to actually be true; he was probably the victim of a grievous accident, currently lying in a coma and beset by drug-induced hallucinations. It was a _far_ more reasonable alternative to the notion that he was actually living out this insanity. Desperate for an out, Ed darted to his feet and began pacing back and forth in front of the sofa with jerky, rapid steps. 

“Look, there are some pretty fucking enormous holes in this scenario,” he said, holding up his hand as he started ticking them off on his fingers. “One- _no sex_. With him. _Ever_. In any way. God, I shouldn't even have to... _eww_! Two- even if I _were_ to fuck another guy,” here Ed paused to shudder for effect, “he would be the last person in the world I'd consider. The _very_ last. Three- I don't even have alchemy anymore. Got no way to make babies other than the old-fashioned way. And fourth- and most important...”

He stopped dead, hating himself for what was coming next. Turning around to face the sofa, Ed fixed Mustang with a cold, implacable stare. “If you tell anyone,” he warned, “if this goes any farther than this room, or you use this to make fun in any way, I will fucking _end you_. You got me? They will not even find the pieces, I swear.” He waited for the Colonel to nod, wary curiosity burning in his eyes, before taking a deep breath. “I'm sterile.”

Mustang's brows drew together in surprise, but all he said was, “What?”

Dropping back into his chair, Ed sighed. “I'm shooting blanks. My boys don't swim. Too much weird alchemy, too many times at the Gate, I don't fucking know. But however it happened, I couldn't have knocked you up. Can't knock _anyone_ up.” 

Saying it out loud sucked. Bad. Until now, only Al had known, and he resolutely ignored the sympathetic look his brother was giving him. In the grand scheme of things, it didn't really matter, right? Al was alive and whole, and he'd survived too, with only an automail leg to show for his sins, and what was that if not a miracle? So he couldn't have kids. Who cared? He certainly didn't.

Bitterly, he realized that it had been a lot easier to bullshit himself before the Colonel showed up.

There was an uncomfortable silence until Mustang leaned forward, briefly touching Ed's leg. “I'm sorry,” he said gently, and Ed couldn't help remembering that, as miserable as the man had made his life all too often, the Colonel had always looked after him more than he let on. He tried to hide it behind a cynical mask, but deep down, he really was a good man. A crooked smile limped across Ed's face as he raised his head-

-and then the Colonel said, “But the Armstrong Paternity test is pretty well infallible. So regardless of all that, you're still the father.”

Deep down, Mustang was a steaming piece of _shit_.

It took a serious effort of will to not leap out of his chair and start repeatedly and forcefully acquainting Mustang's head with the hearthstones. Once the red haze had dispersed from his vision, Ed pried his fingers out of the cushioned arms of the chair and told himself that disemboweling the Colonel right now would be no different than kicking a pregnant woman in the stomach. He'd have to wait until the man had delivered before he could ethically destroy him, and really, that was just more time to plan his demise to perfection. So with murder in his heart, he bared his teeth and said, “I want a divorce.”

“What are you talking about, Fullmetal?” The Colonel's hands twitched in his lap, and Ed would bet anything that he was wishing he had his gloves on. “We're not married, for god's sake!” He looked absolutely appalled at the idea.

“And we're not gonna be! So don't get any twisted ideas about me making an honest woman out of you! The only thing crazier than _you_ immaculately conceiving _my_ kid would be us living together!”

Mustang let out a wordless snarl, but beside him, Al suddenly went white and Ed forgot all about the Colonel in the face of his brother's distress. “Al! What's wrong, are you okay?” Everything had been going smoothly, he'd been recovering so well, god, the thought of a relapse was _terrifying_. He pressed the back of his hand against his forehead, checking for fever, while the other grabbed Al's wrist, silently counting out the fluttering beats pulsing beneath his fingertips.

But Al batted the hands away, shaking his head vigorously. “Brother, I'm fine! I just... I think I know what happened.”

Ed froze, distantly aware that the Colonel had stopped and was staring intently at the younger Elric as well. Carefully sitting back on his haunches, he watched Al twist his hands together anxiously and eye both of them with trepidation. “You know I did a lot of reading, back when I was still in the armor,” he began, his gaze flickering to Ed's. “Sometimes I found things that weren't exactly related to our search, but they were interesting, and the nights were really long...” He trailed off, a guilty expression on his face, and Ed reached out to snag his hand, winding their fingers together and giving an encouraging squeeze. Really, Al ought to know by now that he could never be angry with him for deviating from their research from time to time. It was hard to stay focused that long, and even harder to be angry at Al for _anything_.

“Anyway,” Al continued, relaxing just a little, “I read a really old book one time, and it had a lot of stuff about the laws of alchemy. Archaic rules, things nobody bothers to teach anymore. All the basics were there, Equivalent Exchange, Conservation of Energy, but there were others too. Things that sounded kind of crazy, actually. I figured they were remnants from the religious tenets that used to be part of alchemical practices, before alchemy was stripped down to a pure science.”

The young man paused, then said, “Have either of you ever heard of the Law of Inverse Fertility?”

Mustang's eyes met his, and they both shook their heads. Alphonse sighed.

“Didn't think so. It was one of the older, weirder laws mentioned.”

It sounded more like some lunatic fringe concept than an alchemical precept but Ed still didn't like the implications, and the Colonel had his mouth pinched tight like he did when he was thinking hard. “Should I assume that this law implies that the less fertile a person is, that their actual likelihood of conceiving is amplified?”

No way. It was ridiculous. But Al was nodding, encouraging the Colonel's line of thought. “More or less. But there's also the element of desire- the more the child was wanted, the harder it would be to conceive, and if there was little or no desire for offspring...”

“...the greater the chances of pregnancy. Oh hell.” Mustang appeared nearly as uncomfortable with this logic as Ed was. His brows furrowed in thought again, and he added, “But Edward and I never... we were never involved. Surely that would preclude...”

“Well, you were both mixed up in some pretty strong alchemy at the same time,” Alphonse offered apologetically. “And if this law _is_ , in fact, real, then considering all the other factors-”

“Such as hating each other's guts,” Ed grumbled, truly disturbed now.

“-there really aren't any two people more likely to conceive a child.” 

“You mean more _un_ likely.”

“I think,” said Al, “that in this case it's pretty much the same thing.”


End file.
